The Long Night
by N7withpride
Summary: The day had finally arrived. The Night King had come, bringing a massive army at his back. Jon Snow, the former King in the North, was ready. As ready as he could be, at any rate. This story is the end of that battle, the final fight against the monster that tormented him for years. This would be a battle for the ages!


**Hello! I know it has been a while since the final season of Game of Thrones ended, but I still couldn't just get this idea out of my head. I feel like most of th Long Night episode was well done, right up to the end. The Night King deserved a huge fight, not just one strike to kill. As such, here is how I would change the Long Night! For now, this is a oneshot, but if people want more I have some ideas on how I would change the rest of the season.**

Air escaped Jon's mouth in ragged gasps, the sound of his desperate search for air the only sound in his mind. Freezing heat surrounded his body, as Viserion showered his cover in blue flame, burning almost as much as the muscles in his body did from all the strain.

He was trapped. The Night King had his brother and there was nothing he could do about it. This was where he died, he could feel it down to his very core. His mind called out to Rhaegal, begging the creature to come and save him. He wasn't even sure if the beast he bonded to was even still alive, but he was desperate. Desperate to win, desperate to help, desperate to do SOMETHING. He let out a howl of anger, of anguish, of the cavalcade of emotions he was too tired and too afraid to even try to dissect.

Then, in the distance, he heard it. A faint roar, one growing louder with each passing second. He couldn't dare allow himself to hope, to feel that feeling that felt so foreign to him since he came back, so he shut his eyes. Shut them to the world, to death, to whatever was coming.

Maybe the red woman's god truly was looking after him. Maybe it was fate. Maybe he just got lucky. All he knew was the roar he heard truly was Rhaegal, racing to save his rider and take down his fallen brother. Jon allowed his eyes to crack open as he heard the crash of two massive beasts waging war against eachother, with no riders to get in the way of their battle. A small smile fell on Jon's lips, allowing himself a second to celebrate this victory as he mentally cheered on Rhaegal.

But he had a job to do. Rhaegal provided him the opening, now all he could do was hope it wasn't too late as he raced into the Godswood.

Theon was doing his best, fighting off the onslaught of Wights as he defended her brother. But it was obvious to Arya he didn't stand a chance. But his death would not be in vain. None of them would. She was going to end this. Right here, right now.

* * *

Theon Greyjoy was doomed, fighting valiantly to atone for his sins and write a strong final chapter for the storm of emotions that was his life. It provided Arya a small bit of hope, seeing him fight both the monsters in the field as well as the monster within himself.

She shook her head, ending that thought where it was. Her face returned to a mask of steel, to the Arya Stark that killed the Freys and Meryn Trant and the Waif and countless others. It was the monster in her that would save her family, she couldn't afford to think about anything else. Emotions were a weakness in a fight like this, and she needed to stay as strong as possible.

"Theon. You're a good man. Thank you."

She heard her brother speak, sounding the most like the Bran she grew up with since she saw him again. The warcry of Theon Greyjoy followed her brothers words, and she watched as the Night King killed him.

It would pay for that. She readied her own leap into action, taking a single step back. She was ready to attack, to end this.

Fate had other plans. She felt something grab her arm, and turned to be face to face with eyes of piercing blue. A White Walker. Shit, she must have gotten careless and been spotted. She quickly drew her Valyrian steel blade, plunging it into the exposed gut of the creature and killing it in a mess of shards of ice.

The Night King must have felt one of its children die, because it turned to face her. "Gods damn it," she muttered, turning to face the foes who now all knew of her presence. She failed, missed her chance to end this decisively. Now, she had to survive.

"Not today, you sons of bitches."

* * *

The second Jon stepped into the Godswood, he was stunned by what he saw. Arya stood, alone, facing off against a horde of White Walkers. Corpses littered the ground, and three distinct piles of ice showed that Arya had managed to take a few down. She was graceful, dodging and weaving as the creatures swung at her. She carried a dagger in her left hand and a spear in her right, the spear broken in half.

Jon charged with a growl, plunging Longclaw deep through one. It fell to pieces, and he spun, striking another diagonally across the back. That brought awareness to his presence, and several disengaged Arya to duel him.

He quickly realized he needed to remain on the defensive if he wanted to survive, so he stepped into a defensive stance. Blades of ice came at him from all directions, coming at him in powerful strikes. His blade flew around the battlefield, parrying strike after strike as he desperately moved his body to dodge the strikes he couldn't parry. He ducked under a horizontal sweep from a White walker, ripping the dragonglass dagger on his hip out of its sheathe and cutting it across the leg, sending one walker crumbling to dust. He threw the dagger at another, taking it down as well.

A frozen blade struck towards him, and he whipped his chest back. The strike missed him by centimeters, and he swung Longclaw wildly, making contact and killing another.

Jon scrambled, backing up to give himself some space to breathe and defend. They could do this, he said to himself. He hoped that after enough repetition he would actually believe it.

* * *

Bran sat like a statue, watching in silence as his siblings carved their way through the White Walkers defending their king. He desperately wished he could be with them, standing by their side as they fought.

They can't die, he thought to himself. Not for him. Theon already died for him, as did the Ironborn. And all of that led to this moment, and he really wanted to believe it would be worth it.

Bran sighed mentally, putting back up the walls of the Three Eyed Raven that had temporarily gone down. He couldn't think like that, not anymore. That's what Brandon Stark, the boy who couldn't walk, would think. He wasn't Brandon Stark anymore. He was the Three Eyed Raven, a being who flew through time as easily as easily as birds traverse the sky. He needed to focus on the task at hand, and prepare for when his time to aid in the fight would come.

He was destined to be here, and the reason for that would show itself one way or the other.

* * *

Valyrian steel pierced the final White Walker, and the sound of shattering glass was accompanied by the heavy and vocal breathing of Arya Stark. Somehow, she had survived the onslaught. All thanks to the timely intervention of her brother.

"Took you long enough," she commented dryly, a smirk appearing on her once stoic face.

"This is no time for jests, Arya," Jon turned to face the Night King. "Remember what I taught you?"

"Stick em with the pointy end?"

"Well, something tells me this fight won't be that simple," Jon readied his blade as the ancient being slowly approached, a look of rage on its frozen face. This was the battle she had been waiting for, training for. She never knew it until now, but this was what she was born to do. And she was ready. This frozen bastard would pay for what it did to her family.

Jon leapt into action first, lunging forward with a horizontal strike towards its abdomen. He poured all the power he could into the strike, desperate to end the fight quickly. The Night King parried, blade of ice connecting with valyrian steel as the creature batted away his attack and attempted to counter with a slash of its own.

Jon took a step back, the weapon passing centimeters away from his chest.

Arya went in on the offensive next, leaping at the Night King from behind and attempting to send both the dragonglass spear and Valyrian steel dagger into the back of the monster. It pivoted, turning and thrusting its blade at Arya.

But Arya was ready. Midair, she contorted her body so the blade flew past her as she approached. This contortion quickly turned into a spin, slashing out with her spear. It made contact, striking the Night King across the face in a long vertical line. She landed on one knee right next to it, and slid her dagger to the right leg of it and sliced. Had she been facing a human, she'd have easily cut through a major tendon.

He watched with bated breath, hoping this would be enough to finish the job. He should have known it wouldn't be that simple. He watched as all the damage Arya did was slowly undone, ice traveling up its body to repair the face wound and leg wound. It even had the nerve to smirk at him, before lifting the previously injured leg and sending its boot right across Arya's face.

Arya retreated to Jon's side, holding her face and glaring daggers at their foe. If looks could kill, the fucker would be dead already, but apparently not even valyrian Steel OR dragonglass could kill it.

"So, the only way we know how to kill those things didn't work," Arya lets out, getting ready to rejoin combat. "Got a backup idea?"  
"Rip it to pieces," Jon replied.

"Now THAT is a plan I can get behind, brother."

* * *

Jon and Arya were relentless, striking at the Night King with reckless abandon. Every time one needed to retreat and regroup, the other fought harder, not giving it a breather. If it were a human, this war of attrition would have shifted the balance in the livings favor.

But the King of the White Walkers was no human. As far as they could tell, it didn't get tired. It wasn't even slowing down and, although they'd never admit it, they were.

Bran watched closely, seeing his siblings fight valiantly to defend the living. But they would lose. The Night King was simply too powerful, and seemingly had no weaknesses at all. None that could be seen by the human eye. But Bran had more than just the human eye.

Suddenly, Bran's destiny became crystal clear. He needed to go back, dig through history and find the Night King's weakness. And he was ready.

* * *

The air echoed with the sound of steel meeting solid Ice as Jon kept striking, trying to crack through the defensive foundation of the Night King. The three fighters had managed to make their way onto the frozen water of the small pond in the Godswood, hoping the slippery terrain would cause it a disadvantage. It didn't.

Arya sprinted back into the fight, sliding across the ice and shoving her spear through the calf of the Night King again. It fell to a knee, and she pressed the advantage by cutting its throat. Jon then shoved Longclaw through its chest, right where a human heart would be, the sound of cracking ice sending chills up their spines.

They stared, wondering if maybe, just maybe that would be the end of the fight. Could they have won. It laid still on the ground, not moving for what felt like hours but was more akin to seconds.

Then, suddenly, it sat up, gaping wound in its throat and hole in its chest so deep you could see through it. And it slowly started to repair, the wounds filling with ice until eventually it returned to its normal self once again.

"You have got to be FUCKING kidding me!" Jon bellowed.

He took the words right out of her mouth.

* * *

Cold struck against his face, an icy wind so strong it felt like his beak was freezing with each inch forward he took. Bran endured, flying faster and higher as he travelled through time itself. The woods he knew slowly transformed, ancient trees taking the place of the smaller ones he knew. Winterfell disappeared, and instead lay a battlefield far larger than the one they faced in his own time. He could make out silhouettes of creatures of legend, giants and children of the forest, and finally saw first hand what a true first man looked like.

It would be enough to make him feel in awe, at first. But he needed to remain focused, the lives of his siblings and every other living being in the world were at stake.

Luckily for him, the hero of legend had a fairly distinguishable weapon, a burning sword. He needed to find the Prince that was Promised, that would lead him to a way to kill the Night King. Hopefully.

Bran flew closer, searching the desolate wasteland for Azor Ahai. He watched as men waged war against monsters, giants and children of the forest aiding in the war for dawn. He saw Direwolves, far larger than any of the Stark children's had grown, and mammoths. The sheer scale of the battle was magnificent.

After what felt like ages of flying, he spotted his target. The prince that was promised, fighting a pair of White Walkers. The warrior stood in front of the Night King, fighting its last line of defense.

The warrior was surprisingly lean, different than the brutish First Man he was picturing. The warrior had long hair, down to the shoulders. Shadow covered the face of the savior, masking any distinguishing features.

The warrior moved with grace and speed, making quick work of the White Walkers and staring into the eyes of the Night King. This was it, it was his time to find the answer, the way to end the threat that has loomed over Westeros for Old Gods know how long.

The two titans clashed, flaming steel striking against the clear blue of ice as one savior battled the force of Winter itself.

Suddenly, Bran was back in his time. No, he had to go back. What happened? Had he been too far for too long? He needed to return, he needed to see.

He watched as Jon and the Night King clashed, their blades clashing back and forth. Jon's feral rage fueling him as he struck away at the Night King.

Then, he was back in the past. His connection returned, as he watched Azor Ahai dodge a strike from the Night King, sliding on the icy ground to avoid a sweeping slash. The warrior lunged, stabbing at the monster. But it was too fast, stepping out of the way and knocking the fiery blade from the hand of the Prince that was Promised.

Jon had been temporarily taken out of the battle, knocked to the ground and thrown to the side. Arya leapt into the fray, distracting the Night King from her brother. She sidestepped a lunge, using her dagger to parry away the strike as she stabbed at it with her spear.

Despite being disarmed, the warrior was still amazing. This warrior moved like a dancer, dodging and weaving to avoid the offensive assault the Night King waged. Eventually, the warrior was able to get to their weapon, diving to the ground and grabbing it. The Night King, in an attempt to end the battle, overextended itself and lunged too deep. It left an opening for the Prince that was promised to strike, and they did. They stabbed the Night King, just above the right hip, and Bran watched as the Night King stared in shock before shattering like a glass dropped off the roof of a building.

Finally, he had found it. The Night King's weakness. He thought back to the day he saw the Night King be born, realizing that that's where the Children stabbed the magical blade to turn that man into the Night King. Bran brought himself back to his time, armed with this new knowledge.

* * *

Arya cartwheeled out of the way of another strike, landing on one knee as the Night Kings blade flew harmlessly over her head.

Jon had stood back up at this point, swinging Longclaw at the Night Kings side. The Night King parried the strike with ease, sending its shoulder into Jon's chest to knock him back.

"Go for the right hip!" Bran screamed. "That's the place that will kill it!"

Jon and Arya looked at Bran in shock, before nodding and resolving. They went on the offensive, trying to get at that weakspot. The Night King was strong, and its defense was very sound.

Arya lunged, stabbing both her weapons at the Night King. It grabbed her arm, spinning her and throwing her at Jon. She landed on Jon's chest. Knocking both him and her onto the ground, and the Night King wasted no time. It lifted its blade and attempted to plunge its blade through its foes.

Jon reacted first. He spun around, protecting Arya with himself as he pulled her under him. The freezing cold blade broke through his back, burning his body. Blood began to pour out, freezing on the spot from the biting cold the blade gave off. Arya howled in rage, dragging herself out from under her brother and leaping into action. The Night King caught her, hand wrapped around her neck. Her Valyrian steel dagger sat in her left hand, but as it held her she let it go.

Time seemed to slow as it fell, inching towards the ground. But then, she caught it with her right hand and she plunged that dagger into her foe. Right into its right hip. It looked at her, shock on its features, before it crumbled into shards of ice. Arya fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

She did it. She won. She allowed herself a moment of victory, before a groan shook her. Jon!

She raced to her brothers side, ignoring the burning of every muscle in her body and the lack of breath in her body. She slid to his side.

"Jon, you're gonna be okay," she pleaded with him, tears in her eyes. "Please be okay."

"Did…did you do it?" he croaked out, blood in his mouth falling to the white snow. "Did you win?"

"Yes" she tried to smile, but it obviously didn't travel to her eyes. "Yes we did."

Jon let a small smile grace his face, before coughing up a bit more blood. "Dany…"

* * *

Danaerys Targaryen sat, tears flowing down her face as the man who had stood by her for the longest of anyone laid at her feet. She had lost so much, and now she was probably going to die here. Here, in a frozen wasteland, far from the Iron Throne that she had fought to achieve her whole life. The dead surrounded her, hundreds of skeletal monsters closing in on her, and her thoughts wandered to Jon. Was he okay? Or had they truly failed?

Her question was answered when the dead on every side of her started falling, crumbling to the ground in heaps. She looked around, confused, but as the fog started to lift she realized it was finally over. They survived. No, they won.

Jon returned to her mind, and she stood up, sprinting into the keep of Winterfell as fast as her legs could carry her. Please, gods, tell her he was okay. She needed him to be okay right now.

Her legs carried her to the Godswood. Truly, she wasn't sure how she managed to find it. This place was still so foreign to her, but she did. She stood, staring at the many bodies littering the ground.

Then, she saw Arya and Bran, huddled over something. She ran over.

"Arya, Bran, where is…?" she began, before she saw just what they were huddled over. Jon's body.

She let out a sob, dropping to her knees. Arya made some space for her, trying and failing to mask her emotions in front of the woman she didn't trust.

"Dany.." Jon said, trying to smile for her. His words were raspy and weak, barely even audible. "We did it. We won."

"Yes, my love," she replied through the tears. "This war is over. Next, I will take the Iron throne. And you will be with me. I need you with me. You'll be okay, I'll get a red priest and we'll fix this."

"No, I don't think this can be fixed, Dany…" Jon let out a humorless chuckle. "That's okay, though. I have…fought for so long…I'm tired, Dany. And now, I can rest. My job is done…"

"No…"

"Please, let me say this. My fight is done, but yours is not. You have lost so much. You are strong, but this much loss…it'll turn anyone. Don't let it turn you. I fell in love with you because you're strong and brave and beautiful, but most of all because of your kindness. Your caring. Do not lose that. Show Westeros what I already know, that you are no monster. No mad woman. Show them the breaker of chains…and the little girl who dreamed of a house with a red door. Please. Promise me. You are better than any of them…a better person and a better leader. Show them. I love you, and you will always be my queen."

"I will. I promise," she nodded, breathing in deeply and trying to stay strong for him in his final moments. She leaned down, planting a kiss on his lips. He smiled, placing his hand on her face, and took in his last breath. Then, slowly, his hand fell to the ground.

Dany wept over him, as Arya and Bran held onto eachother. They had won, but at what cost?

**Please leave some reviews on your thoughts and if you want to see more!**


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